You'll Never Walk Alone
by bipolar broadway baker
Summary: A young school teacher of the Winchester boys sees some bruises and scars, and takes action for the sake of the new students. Mentions of child abuse (physical and sexual), suicide (briefly), and general monster nastiness. Plus, there's an OMC. Featuring moody!protective!Dean, young!Sam, and caring!John
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! So, this just kinda popped into my brain a few weeks ago and refused to leave. And, naturally, the only way to make it leave is to write it out. This is teen!chesters. There is mention of abuse, and a very brief mention of suicide, and a bit of gore from all the nasty monster stuff. This will be a multi-chap- because I can, and I love teenage Winchester boys so much- and there will be an OMC. :)**

** In other news, sequel to Cold and Broken will be started soon. First chapter up in the next week or so... :)**

** I own nothing.**

** Enjoy!**

The sun was bright and warm on the April day. Jacqueline Brown took a deep breath of spring air as she opened her classroom windows. Mrs. Brown loved her job. She loved seeing the range of personalities and lifestyles in her sophomore classes, and the light in their eyes as they read the class literature. Okay, so maybe it was the dull stare of the dairy cow sometimes, but the good in teaching English far outweighed the bad to her. She was grateful.

She was grateful that she hadn't seen her ex-husband since the day they signed their divorce papers and settled the… the court case. Her son would be 16 years old now. She would never forget the feeling of terror and the sensation of her heart being ripped out as she found Louis on the floor, bled out and far gone. He was beaten to death… with- with a whiskey bottle and her husband's fists. She knew those well, but there was nothing quite like the loss of her baby. The anger of losing her only child to the man who claimed to love them, only to beat them when he came home drunk and angry, was deeper than any feeling she'd ever had. Her books became an escape. And she didn't feel the slightest guilt when she got the letter that morning: Charles was found, hanging by a shower head in the state prison. She cried, but she knew her husband died long ago. She was grateful for the fresh start. Time had flown, and- 10 years later- time had at least closed the wounds Charles left, if not healed the bruises and gashes she'd had to cover for so long.

She smiled happily as her last class of the day began filtering aimlessly into the room. Her new student was starting today, and she couldn't wait to meet him. She read through his file and, while his grades left something to be desired, she was trying to be optimistic.

"Jackie?" she turned at the sound of her name, smiling at Sylvia, the old secretary of the guidance department. Her wrinkles and laugh lines deepened as she smiled gently at her like she always did. "You're going to have your new student today. He's waiting just outside."

"Oh, how exciting, I-" She was stopped by Sylvia's soft hand as she moved toward the hallway.

"I think you should be warned ahead of time-" her voice dropped to a serious whisper "this boy doesn't look well. I- I'm going to try and file a report with the social worker as soon as I can, but you know how they are with students that they haven't had time to observe." No new student could by reported for a CPS evaluation without at least a week's observation. It was a rule she and Sylvia had been trying to change since Louis was killed.

"You think someone's hurting him?" She felt her heart stutter a little. Another abused 16 year old boy… Louis filled her mind for a moment, and she blinked away a stray tear. "I'd like to meet him now."

"Are you sure? I can just have him introduced to the class…"

"I'd really like to speak with him."

"Ms. Brown, this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is your new English teacher." Sylvia gave her a look between an apology and a warning, before she let her have a full view of the boy. He was handsome. A strong jawline and big green eyes were set in his lightly freckled, somewhat tanned skin. He flashed her a flirtatious smirk that would've made any teenage girl swoon and she wanted to let herself take in what he _did_ want her to see, but she was too busy discretely observing the damage he _didn't_ want her to see. She and Sylvia had trained themselves extensively to notice the signs of domestic violence- the students that suffered it weren't exactly ready to shout it from the rooftops. They were too scared and that was no fault of theirs.

Concealer was expertly applied over one of his eyes, but it was still more than a little bit swollen. She could see it easily, but no one else would notice. Schooling her expression to a warm smile, she extended her hand to the new student, who gave a tiny flinch that was almost lost on even her. She remembered that- she still flinched at sudden movements sometimes. He held himself carefully, almost like he was holding his breath. Again- no one would notice but her, she knew what to look for. He took her hand and gave it a firm grip- his hand was roughly calloused and scarred- even though he shook it rather halfheartedly. He didn't care about her, he looked a little glazed and unfocused. Bored. It said in his file that his family moved around. It must be hard for him.

"Good morning, Mr. Winchester. Welcome to my class, it's a pleasure to have you." She hoped her cheeriness didn't seem too forced, or her smile too strained. She just wanted to burst into tears for this boy. Dean didn't even acknowledge her greeting with more than a non-committal grunt. His big green eyes looked so tired and sad... his smile was long gone and she felt that she would do anything to bring it back at that moment.

Someone was hurting him. And she felt hot anger and such an intense urge to protect this boy, that she had to fight with herself to let go of his hand. After barely a moment of silence, she sighed and looked over to Sylvia, who knew exactly what she would say.

"Mrs. Pulsack, could you look after my class for a little while. I'd like to have a talk with Dean for a few minutes. There are some worksheets in the filing cabinet by the window." she gave a vague nod, and closed the door behind her as she entered the classroom, leaving Jackie and the young man alone.

"Dean, would you walk with me?" she said, trying not to sound like she was talking to a skittish animal. The boy instantly narrowed his eyes in suspicion and confusion. "It's alright, I just want to know a bit about you before we meet the class." She wasn't really lying to him. Hesitantly, they fell in step, dean still putting a good yard of distance between them.

"So," she started after an awkward silence "where are you from?"

"You should already know that." he stated flatly. She stopped walking and turned to look at him.

"What makes you think that?"

He rolled his eyes and leaned back against the lockers- a bad decision, if his expertly hidden wince was anything to go by. "All you teachers get a file as soon as I get here. You get my grades, my school records, and my basic information." he sounded bored.

"I have read your file. You move a lot, and I'm not asking where you were born: where'd you just come from?" a vein jumped in his neck and he clenched his jaw before responding.

"Wyoming."

"My, you're pretty far from home." she replied, trying to break the incredibly awkward tension as the teenager built his walls higher against her. She cleared her throat. "Do you like it here?"

"Haven't really been here long." he shrugged, not looking at her, no matter how hard she tried to meet his green gaze "It's okay, I guess." his voice rumbled a little, deep for a sixteen year old boy.

"Oh, do you have any family here?" _That beats the tar out of you_?

"No, it- it's just me, my brother, and my dad." She zeroed in on it like a hawk: Dad.

"Older or younger?" she asked quickly, trying to get any other information out of the boy, not knowing whether to be relieved or worried; a brother could be a source of comfort and protection in an abusive home, but it also meant another child getting hurt. Dean huffed a little laugh and gave the tiniest smile.

"Younger. He's 12..." she smiled at the relationship the Winchester brothers seemed to have. For that moment, Dean just looked so happy and proud.

"What about him and your dad? Do they like it here?" as quickly as the wall started to crumble, Dean reinforced it stronger and taller. His smile dropped and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her. She couldn't help but notice that it was at the mention of 'dad' that he closed off. Dean was irritated and defensive now, thinly veiling it with a sullen, blank mask. It broke her heart to remember that she knew that look because of how many times she saw it on her own son.

"What's the point of these questions, Ms. Brown?" he spit out bitingly. His hands were shoved deep in his jacket pockets- just enough for her to see the starts of a dental floss stitched cut- was he stitching himself up. She had to fight to keep the damn tears out of her eyes.

"N-nothing, Dean. I just-"

"Want to know more about me? I move a lot, Ma'm. I won't be here long, I never am. These are pretty personal questions." there was a silence that became ice between them.

"I- of course.. Yes, I'm sorry. That was... inappropriate." she tried haltingly to make amends, but the tension in the teenager's shoulders didn't slump.

"It's fine." it clearly wasn't fine. But it was when they walked into the classroom and he was introduced to the other kids. Then, he was the picture of a young, teenage heartbreaker; all cool and relaxed, with a slight smirk easily painted on his lips.

He turned it on and off like a damn switch.


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2! OMG EXCITING! :) I love you people... **

** Hi.**

** I already love this story, I can't stop writing... **

** I own nothing. **

** Enjoy!**

It had been almost 3 full days since they moved, and Dean already had a teacher on his ass. He rolled his eyes and looked determinedly at the ground as Ms. Brown tried to meet his eyes on his way into 9th period English.

She was nosey. She asked questions. She shot him these pitying, hopelessly sappy 'I'm-there-for-you' looks that made him want to punch a wall. He didn't know why, but he had a nagging feeling which only seemed to make the ache in his cracked ribs feel worse: she saw through... she saw him. The concealer didn't work. He knew she saw the swollen eye, and maybe he wasn't hiding the flinches and pain well enough when he walked. It was a nasty shiner, and the stitched up, scabbed over gashes that he tried so hard to hide with his jacket were apparently quite visible to her. Or maybe she was just purposely irritating him. Her questions were always so innocent, though. There wasn't a single flare for the CPS or a social worker. The suspense was killing him.

_He shouldn't be here. It felt so strange; he was never the one to disobey or pick a fight with Dad, and he hated the idea of leaving Sammy alone in the motel. But, he had the worst feeling about this hunt. It was just a hunch, and Dad would kill him if he knew he was here, but he was so sick and tired of being sidelined for these hunts that were 'too dangerous'. He took on a whole nest of Vamps, like, two weeks earlier. He could handle it. _

_ He spun in the darkness, gun cocked when he heard the snapping twig behind him. He instantly dropped his weapon when he recognized the moppy little head- growing up like a weed._

_ "What the HELL do ya think you're doin'!?" he whispered harshly, his voice rasping with the fear of his baby brother in danger._

_ "Come on, Dean, I wanna help! I'm not an invalid- you said yourself: I'm a good shot, and-"_

_ "You're twelve years old, Sammy. You can shoot as many cans as you want, but you're too young." Sam glared daggers at him, his eyes gleaming angrily in the full moonlight dappled through the trees of the Gros Ventre wilderness. _

_ "It's not fair! You get to go on hunts all the time- I'm just sick of being baggage to babysit-" his voice was rising and Dean shushed him with an urgent finger to his lips._

_ Something was out there. And it was very close._

_ "Sammy." eyes glinted in the shadows of the brush and tree branches and dean felt his heart leap in his throat. "Sam, get behind me." he whispered, not daring to move a muscle._

_ "Dean, what-"_

_ "NOW, SAMMY!" it was too late. With a bloody snarl, the werewolf leapt out of the bushes, and launched itself at Sam._

_ Dean shot uselessly at the creature as it laid a filthy claw across Sam's back and leaned down to bite. Suddenly, panic took over and the gun was pointless. _

_ "HEY FLEABAG!" he shouted, throwing rocks- huge stones- at the beast until he landed a distracting blow to it's head, making it lunge at him. _

_ This wasn't thought through very well. _

_ But he didn't care. Sammy was safe, and that was all that mattered as the wolf tackled him to the ground, and Dean's head hit it so hard that stars erupted in his vision._

_ He struggled against it with everything that he had, pushing at the claws that dug viciously into his arms and chest, drawing blood that matted his cotton t shirt to his skin. Getting a single arm free ripped the razor-sharp claws through his flesh down his bicep and side. Dean bit back a scream of agony, and managed to raise his head a little. He rolled with all his strength until he was on top of the __creature- no easy feat, earning him deep gash marks through his black shirt and into his chest- struggling to ignore Sam yelling his name in fear._

_ "GET DOWN!" was the first thing to register from his brother, and he turned his head just in time to get elbowed in the eye by a fur-covered bone, sending him sprawling onto his back, just in time for a gunshot to ring out._

_ Oh, no. Dad. He was in such. Deep. Shit._

_ "D-Dean?" that was not Dad._

_ No._

_ No no no. He was too young, Sam was so young for a first kill- Dean had just had his last year. While there was something so gratifying about a kill, it still did something to you. Especially for a sweet thing like Sammy, who would start thinking about the creature's family'n stuff. The kid was a damn good shot, but he'd never done anything close to that. Dean felt a swell of guilty pride well up inside him; Sam managed a successful kill of a moving target in a high pressure situation. At his age -though he would never ever admit it- Dean couldn't have done that. _

_ He tried to take a deep breath and heave himself up, only let out a cry of pain as fire erupted from his gashes and he could feel his eye swelling to the size of a baseball and bruising somethin' awful. He coughed, gingerly gripping his ribs as he felt them painfully shift and rub against each other. Ouch._

_ "Dean?!"_

_ "You okay, Sammy?" he grit out through the pain. _

_ He heard a sigh of relief. "Answer me when I talk to you, Man. I-I'm fine... just a couple scrapes- dean, we gotta get you to a hospital, you-"_

_ "Sam?" came a bewildered and absolutely panicked voice rang out through the trees._

_ Dad was gonna be so pissed. _

"Mr. Winchester." Jesus Christ, did it never end with this chick!? Giving up on hiding his overwhelming irritation, he turned on his heel away from the door, facing his teacher with a barely concealed eyeroll. He eyed her dryly as she stopped him at the end of class, that obscene smile firmly in place. He vaguely wondered if her face was just gonna get stuck like that.

"Yes, Ma'm?" He did not have the time for his english teacher: the whole left side of his body was on fire and he needed to pick up Sammy, clean and re-bandage both of them, make dinner, help Sam with is homework- and maybe, God permitting- he'd hustle some suckers at a poker game or pool table. Just for the extra money til Dad got back from disposing of the werewolf.

"Just checking up. How are you? Cassie and Anna both seem awfully fond of you..." she trailed of like she was hinting that he won the lottery by attracting those two. Dean was handsome: he knew it, he flaunted it, and he loved it. But with every hot chick, there were, like, five or six obnoxious airheads like Cassie Robinson and Anna Milton. He scoffed and didn't even care how rude he was being: WHY DO YOU CARE!?

"Ms. Brown, I'm in a hurry-" Good God, Woman...

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry, it's just-" He turned to go: they wouldn't be here much longer anyway, he didn't care what she thought of him. He did throw a 'have a nice afternoon' over his shoulder- but he wasn't sure if he was saying it sarcastically or not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! New chapter, guys! Let me know what you think!**

** For the sake of this developing plot, Sam is already experiencing visions and migraines... I hope that's okay with you. **

** I own nothing.**

** Enjoy!**

Jackie was halfway through a lecture on The Great Gatsby when a knock came on the door.

Gregory Brighton was the newest teacher on the staff, and taught science in the 6th grade wing downstairs. He took his coffee black with two sugars and stood slightly pigeon toed, with horn rimmed glasses that magnified his massive brown eyes. They were good friends. Just good friends. She smiled- perhaps not completely consciously- as she saw him and opened her door, but he didn't look particularly happy: in fact, he looked like he ran all the way across the building, and not for good news. He was white as a sheet, and more wide eyed than usual.

"I- I need D-Dean Winchester, please... I'm sorry to interrupt, I-" He panted quietly, looking sincerely sorry and very determined. She glanced at the boy by the window quickly before sliding out the door and into the empty hall with her co-worker.

"What's the matter?"

"I- I don't know... I teach his brother, and he- I mean, he looked a little pale, and like he might've had a headache or something- but, but one second he was fine, and the next-" he gestured helplessly to the ground. "on the floor, grasping his head and screaming bloody murder... I don't..." she put a hand on his shoulder as he slid down the wall. "I've- I've never seen anything like that, Jackie... I need Dean, he's the only person Sam'll talk to..." he trailed off, standing back up and brushing imaginary dirt off his trousers. She nodded and went back to the classroom door.

"Dean?" she called, succeeding in getting the boy to meet her eyes across the room "You aren't in any type of trouble, but we need to have a word with you..." she knew she guilded the lily when she talked to her new student: but- if she was right- than she'd rather baby him than potentially frighten him. Dazedly, the boy rose and swaggered across the room with that walk- he didn't do it on purpose; he was bowlegged like he'd been horseback riding his whole life- and had an air of old western films about him. He joined them in the hallway, and instantly seemed to sense that something was up.

You're Dean?" Mr. Brighton asked rhetorically, nervously straightening his glasses and extending a hand, which Dean took in a firm grip "I'm Mr. Brighton, I teach your brother's science class. He had a bit of an... an episode, and-" Dean was already down the hall and headed toward Nurse Andrea's office at the bottom of the main stairs. The teachers exchanged a glance as they hurriedly followed the boy.

"Sammy?" Dean called as he entered the health office, shoving the older woman aside as he pulled the curtain around them and sat at the edge of his baby brother's cot. "Hey... hey, Sammy..." he heaved a sigh of relief as he mussed the boy's hair and massaged his temples, and Sam squinted weakly and smiled at him. You'd think these people would know enough to pull the curtains when someone clearly had a severe migraine.

And maybe, also a nasty vision of the future, but even Dean was still learning how to handle that.

"D'n... I- I had a..."

"Migraine?" he whispered, furrowing his brow at his brother's obvious pain " vision, too?" the boy nodded a little, only to groan and stifle his nausea. Poor thing. He was pale and sweaty, shaking, with the starts of a nosebleed and squinting through his lashes in the half-light. "Can you talk now, or do you wanna wait?" there was usually about a week between vision and reality... enough time to do some research and drive to the sight of the vision.

"A-a woman... she- it was awful, Dean." he hated that he couldn't protect Sam from this. Sam usually had visions about cases and people to save: he usually saw terrible deaths or something like that. He was never going to be old enough to see that happen.

"Shh, Shh, it's okay now... let's get you home to sleep this off, 'kay?" he got another tender nod and murmured 'kay' as Sammy closed his eyes and lay back again. Dean quickly shed his leather jacket, wrapping it around the skinny body.

"Mr. Winchester?" came an all too familiar voice from behind the curtain. Knowing he had to face this sometime, he took a deep breath and slid out into the office space.

Ms. Brown, Mr. DreamyLibrarian, and Nurse Andrea all stared at him like he owed them some kind of answer. Maybe he did, but he wasn't offering the truth anytime soon.

"We need to leave. He gets migraines... really bad ones, and he's gotta sleep 'em off." Sam's Science Teacher almost looked like he bought it for a second, but Ms. Brown was frowning sadly- she might as well've brought the balloons to the pity party- and the Nurse stood with arms crossed and phone in hand.

"Mr. Winchester, your father isn't answering the phone. In fact, the number he gave us isn't even working."

"Oh, he's not home right now, I'll just take 'im-"

"Dean, it doesn't work like that." Ms. Brown interjected, like she was talking to a child or something "Your father needs to pick up, so he knows where you are."

"He _does_ know where we are, he knows where to find us. My brother isn't feeling well." he met her gaze and stared at her fiercely "I'm taking him home." there was a long moment of tension and Nurse Andrea sighed to break it.

"Dean, I- I had to lift your brother's shirt to check his vitals, and-" she paused, looking imploringly at him. He must've been a sight to see: eyes wide and all color drained from his face. "I was appalled. There is no accident that can explain away those injuries, Mr. Winchester, and I have to ask you how he got them."

"What marks?" well, good to know Ms. Brown's interest was perked. Dean's entire body went tense with the urge to slap her, blocking her path behind the curtain as she started forward.

"These vicious... cars and gashes down his back and the bruises all over him..." she looked at Dean with pitying eyes, like she understood everything. But he couldn't tell her she didn't: there was no accident to explain this, and the truth would only make them seem crazy. The three adults muttered little brainstorms about whippings and knives and all these ridiculous things that could cause those claw marks on Sammy's back.

"Sweetheart, we know you know about them... those stitches were not done in a hospital..." they were neat and placed with surgical precision, but he supposed dental floss wasn't usually the material of choice for most doctors. Ms. Brown gasped, and wiped a tear from her eye in a way so dramatic he could've just been diagnosed with cancer on a daytime soap opera. Dean knew it only looked that way to him, but clenched his teeth with the red hot anger boiling in his gut.

She reached out, laying a hand on his shoulder, which he ducked away from so fast she barely touched his skin. That was a bad idea as stars popped in his eyes and pain blossomed in his ribs and he felt his own stitches tear open a little. He grit his teeth with all he had to avoid showing the pain. His conning, sweet talking brain was officially fizzled out by the anger and the agony and he struggled and floundered for some excuse.

"Kid, are you cut up too?" Bill Nye finally spoke, gently- like he was talking to a cornered animal- as they all drew closer to him.

The bell rang. He sighed audibly with relief, but he didn't care. It was loud and he felt it himself before he heard the retching. Pulling away the curtain, he yanked a garbage can over to his brother's chin just in time. He stroked back his bangs and rubbed his hand gently over the 12 year old's scarred, leather- covered back.

At least the final bell rang. They couldn't keep either of them here now, and the adults in the room all knew that. There was no solid evidence since Dean and Sam had said nothing- in their father's defense or otherwise. They didn't know for sure how the cuts and bruises got there, and- after a long few moments of vomiting that trailed into dry heaving- Dean re-wrapped the jacket around Sammy's shoulders and helped him stand. He didn't even notice or really care how his own cuts and bruises on his arms could be seen as he turned to the three adults, towering in the curtain opening.

"I need to take my brother home now." he smirked a little, putting up his 'blankly contented' expression as he helped Sam out of the cot and out to their car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Second chapter of Minor Fall, Major Lift will be up in a flash. In the meantime, enjoy this chapter of my latest obsessively completed writing piece. **

** Let me know what you think! Especially of the OMCs! I worked really hard on them, and I really want you guys to give feedback on them! Do you like them? **

** I own nothing**

** Enjoy!**

The night was one of the darkest new moons Dean had ever experienced and Sam sat up in bed- just woken up from sleeping off his nasty migraine/vision.

The visions started around a month ago. Dean totally freaked out the first couple times, but he quickly grasped what was happening. His job was to protect his baby brother, and that was exactly what he'd do. The big brother skillfully- without spilling a drop- brought over a bowl of soup for the younger boy, sitting on the edge of the motel bed.

"So, what happened? Are ya ready?" he asked with uncharacteristic sweetness, knowing how rattled Sam could get that one of his episodes.

"I... I was in this- this really old-looking house. The living room- and th-the lady looked really familiar..."

"How familiar? What'd she look like?"

"Uhm, dark, curly hair- like really curly..." he squinted in concentration "skinny... and bl-blue eyes, I think- it was so dark, I-"

"It's okay, Kiddo, just keep talkin'... what happened next?"

"She was- she was killed by this v-vengeful spirit. A boy.. she kept calling him Lucas or something- I can't remember..."

"How old?" Dean asked, taking as many mental notes as possible.

"Maybe 17, tops? He- he was a teenager, holding a whiskey b-bottle and all broken up... and bloody..."

"Okay, okay... I'll check Obits and do some research tomorrow: we're staying home."

"But, Dean! I have a test in science tomorrow!" Sam didn't mean to sound whiny, and Dean knew it: the kid just hated it when his abilities got in the way of his normal life.

"Dad's coming home. We'll need facts to get him to stay if we're gonna check this out..." John didn't take to Sam's psychic tendencies quite as well as Dean. They needed the proof before they stayed, and their dad wasn't particularly inclined to believe what he couldn't see or understand.

And, not only that, now the staff of their new school- that they could be at for who-knows-how-long- thought they were getting the shit beaten out of them by their 'absent father'. The minute they stepped back into that building, they would have guidance counselors, social workers, Nurse Andrea, Ms. Brown, and Mr. Dreamboat all riding their asses with all the_ sympathy_ and _understanding_ in the world. Dean resisted the urge to hit something and took a deep breath as a terrifying thought hit him:

CPS

Child Protective Services wouldn't be so scary if thy hadn't been reported for evaluation before. Just a couple years back in Colorado a teacher thought Dean's broken arm looked suspicious and Sam's sullen attitude was more than just the result of moving to a new place. They were still on CPS's radar, and on their 'second offense' the likelihood of being taken or separated nearly doubled. And that couldn't happen. Dean couldn't lose Dad, and he could never lose Sammy. The idea of his brother getting dragged away from him to a big, dark car made his heart race and unwanted tears sting his eyes.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Y-yeah, Sammy, 'm fine..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, which only served to send pain rushing outward from his ribcage.

"My name's Sam." Dean managed to jokingly roll his eyes as Sam kept him steady with a hand on his shoulder.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

A moment passed in comfortable silence.

"Dean, do you want me fix your stitches?" Sam said almost timidly, and Dean looked up at him- surprised for a split second, then melting away to a smile. They didn't need to have a chick flick moment for Dean to show Sammy that he never needed to be shy around him. Give 'em a bottle of Jack and a sewing needle and they'd have all the bonding time they could ever need.

"Sure, Sam."

Jackie and Greg stood resolute and stoic as they watched the Winchester brothers leave the nurses' office, their every instinct telling them to run after them and hide them away. They'd only seen the tips of Dean's scabbed over cuts and violent purple bruises, but Greg couldn't even imagine what the rest must look like. He'd never experienced anything like this at his old school in Sacramento, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the calm monotony of classes and co-workers. It was that moment that Jackie slumped over, head in her hands, and sank down onto the cot that Sam Winchester had just left. His new friend shook with tears and it broke his heart to see her in so much pain, but he didn't know what to do to help.

He was usually referred to as 'socially uncomfortable'. It wasn't that he didn't like people, it was more that he didn't understand them. And that left him sitting in his little world of Newton's Laws and chemical reactions with no friends. This was his first friend. He liked her. She was so pretty and sweet and smart but he didn't know what to do. Tentatively, he reached out a slightly trembling hand and rested it- hopefully- comfortingly on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jackie..." he didn't even know what he was apologizing for. She was sad, that was something to be sorry for; right?

"They're just... such _good_ kids..." she sobbed "n-no one deserves t-this..." he took a seat next to her, rubbing up and down her back with kind-of halting motions, ignoring how wonderful he felt to be so close to her.

"I know..." And he did. Sam was a great kid. He was charming when you got him to talk, sweet, funny, incredibly intelligent, and limitlessly determined. The kid was so bright he made the sun look dull, you just had to get him to open up. No easy task, and something that Greg was much too scared to try, but he could see the potential. It made him so angry to think of someone hurting that boy.

Greg had only heard about the older brother until today. Jackie talked about him every day, and Greg patiently listened, because why wouldn't he? A beautiful woman wants to talk to _you_, of all people? You damn well better listen. He'd listened to rant after rant from her- after yet another fight with the social worker or guidance officials- about domestic safety and vigilance in schools until he had every inflection in her voice memorized. She talked about how Dean was a sweetheart when you made an effort with him, but- after today- Greg thought the 16 year old was more belligerent and stubborn than anything even close to sweet.

But, maybe he was just a kid protecting his family.

That could be a game changer.

"G-Greg?" Jackie snuffled.

"Yes, Jackie?"

"Would you come to the- the Winchesters with me... tonight...?" was that harassment? They were basically stalking their students, this didn't seem too good.

"Jackie, I-"

"Please. I just need to know that they're okay..." Greg pursed his lips in thought and his hand stilled over her shoulder blade.

"Okay."

"Thank y-you."


	5. Chapter 5

**OHMYGOD HI.. sorry it's so short. **

** New chapter. :) **

** I own nothing.**

** Enjoy!**

**And a very happy 30****th**** to our baby moose, Sammy Winchester!**

Jackie Brown felt the solid weight of guilt lodge itself in her throat as she watched the shadows through shades of the dilapidated motel window.

Did they... did they _live_ here?

The Winchester boys were tucked into room 17- Dean stepped out for a few moments with an ice bucket- and their lanky forms were fluid against the plain curtains.

"Jackie... if they find us, they could report us. Stalking, Harassment, even _Sexual_ Harassment charges... are you sure-"

"Yes." she interrupted, beginning to lose patience now that Greg mentioned what she'd been mulling over since they left the school. Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she just couldn't see the Winchesters filing any reports against her. She thought- deep down- the boys knew that she only had good intentions.

Raising her binoculars, she peered back at the motel window. "It's just so careless... how could a father leave his children behind like this? How long have they been alone like this? It's child neglect- plain and simple. God, those poor boys..."

"Jackie- Jacks, look." she managed to avoid swooning at the nickname from Greg, and turned to be blinded by the by a pair of massive headlights. A black truck pulled into the spot just in front of the window of room 17. Jackie cursed to herself.

She eagerly pressed the binoculars to her face as the door of the menacing car swung open. The hulking figure that stepped out was- well, you know how people say owners and dogs look alike?- his man looked like his car just by his silhouette. Even she couldn't quite imagine how awful it would be to be on the wrong side of this guy's fists. He climbed out from behind the wheel with a duffel bag and a bottle of nondescript rot gut whiskey. She felt her stomach fall through her suddenly empty body. A bottle of whiskey... Louis would be 16 years old this Tuesday. She felt tears cloud her eyes for a moment, only to blink them away. She cried too much. Just help the poor kids.

The man had the staggering slur in his steps like he was perpetually drunk, but there was still an impossibly strong air of power around him. He was strong. But more than stable enough to not actually be inebriated as he disappeared around the car and into room 17.

"We've got to get closer."

"We? Jackie, this is dumb- maybe it was all actually an accident! It isn't worth losing your job over, getting arrested for-"

"I'm not going to leave until those boys are safe."

She got out of the car, slamming the door as quietly as she could, and crept over to the side of the gigantic truck. It was still warm from all the driving, and she rested her hands carefully on the metal as she got closer to the little room.

The man appeared in the window shadows- Dean and Sam were instantly standing completely, militaristically straight in his presence. The voices were garbled through the glass and foot of space between Jackie and the window. She crept forward on all fours- listening just under the windowsill.

_"What did I say about you boys watching each other's asses? The last thing we need is more CPS-" _the voice was rough, deep, and scolding_._

_ "But Dad, it looks really bad- and there's this teacher that's been pushing for an appointment with the social worker since the day we got here!" _there was Dean.

_ There was a heavy sigh and the sudden thud of a bottle being slammed onto the table. Jackie couldn't help but jump a little. _

_ "We'll leave in the morning." _

_ "Dad, no!"_ that was little Sam_ "we just got here, and we're both still pretty banged up-"_

_ "Which is whose fault?!" _The yelling was sudden and shook the English teacher to her core.

_ "But, Dean's looks infected and-" _

_ "We are DONE discussing this!-"_

The next day at school, Jackie couldn't help but stare at the empty seat by the window of her 9th period class. She didn't even bother with a lecture, letting the students finish the assigned reading in class. She flipped the phone at her desk over and over in her hands, not bothering to think about how the cord wrapped around her wrist. She was too busy trying to think of a good enough reason to place the call she was itching to make.

The bell finally rang, and she waited on the edge of her seat as each student filtered out in a disorganized mob. She sat there, waiting, until every student was far down the hallway before practically running to close the door.

The dial tone echoed into her skull and vibrated her bloodstream with paralyzing fear.

"J-John Winchester?... Yes. My name is Jacqueline Brown ; I teach your son, Dean... Yes, I wanted to discuss your son's grades with you. Could you potentially meet me at the school- maybe tomorrow evening?..."


	6. Chapter 6

**:)**** How are you liking it thus far? Is there any particular scenario you want to see played out? Review and let me know!**

** You're gonna be really annoyed with Jackie in this chapter. Bear in mind that she really thinks she's doing what's best. And since John mentally casts her as the 'villain' trying to take away his boys, and this is from his POV, she's not going to appear too nice anyway. **

** I own nothing**

** Enjoy!**

John couldn't say he was too surprised: his eldest wasn't exactly a star student like Sammy. Dean was by no means stupid- he was actually very smart- he just didn't see the point in the busy work that came with school. He always helped Sam when he needed it, it was just exceedingly rare to find the 16 year old doing work that wasn't research for a hunt. Dean knew where his future was heading, and- as much as it pained John- it was most likely hunting the supernatural bad guys until he didn't come back one day. That idea never ceased to send John into the arms of a bottle of whiskey, and watching the steady rise and fall of his boys' breathing at night.

"Hello Mr. Winchester. I'm Jacqueline Brown." The petite woman met him in the front office, and extended her hand. He took it with his usual air of gruff compliance and smiled lightly. She was about 30 years old. About 5'4" and tiny. Her thighs were probably the same width around as his arms, and he marveled for a second on how her bones could possibly keep her standing. She was pretty, he supposed, with long brown curls and blue eyes- but her smile was tight lipped and she looked tense and guarded. Her discomfort -and maybe anger? Fear?- wasn't lost on him.

_There's this teacher that's been pushing for a social worker appointment ever since we got here_!

"It's a pleasure. I wish it could've been under better circumstances."

"Not at all, Mr. Winchester. Dean's grades are by no means 'bad'…. At least, they wouldn't be if he would actually do the work…" she smiled a little, which John halfheartedly returned.

"That sounds like Dean." She hastily unlocked the door of her office- just in front of what he assumed was her classroom.

"So you're aware of Dean's status in class? Has this been a problem before?" she feigned innocence rather badly, and the father fought the desire to roll his eyes.

"He leaves something to be desired in the grades department, b-"

"Why have you never tried to change that? Once you get your son to open up, Mr. Winchester, he's actually rather brilliant." She said like she was the first person to discover it. John clenched his jaw and bit his tongue against the inevitable sarcastic remark. She was grating on every nerve he had. "He could be in the top 10 of his class. Dean has a lot of potential."

They took seats across from each other at her desk. She primly crossed her ankles and folded her hands, smiling that tiny, uncomfortable smile. Her eyes passed over a picture frame on her desk for a moment, one that John couldn't see. John quickly filed the little movement away, and met her gaze- guarded and slightly impatient- as he waited for her continue. Clearly, she had a lot to say about how he raised his boys.

"John- may I call you John?- in all honesty, this wasn't entirely about your son's grades." He expertly feigned confusion. Of course it wasn't about his grades… "This is about Dean." She sighed and leaned forward a little, as if this required more intimacy than a 'grades' talk. "I'm worried about him. He's reserved, he can be belligerent and rude, he doesn't finish his work- but he is outstandingly intelligent. I just don't understand it, he confuses me." She paused, smiling at him. "I was hoping you could shed a little light on the subject for me."

This was not fake confusion. John felt his head cock to the side as he looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"Could you walk me through what Dean's like at home? Or, give me a little background on him? I'm just so worried about him- I don't want to cross a line or anything, but-"

"You already have."

The silence was almost tangible as he glared at her.

""Excuse me?"

You're asking something very personal. My son is 16 years old- practically an adult to my eyes. If you're so worried about him, talk to him."

"I'm simply asking-" Oh no. You are not gonna backtrack this "

"You're 'simply asking' for background on my son! In my eyes, that's freakin' creepy. What do you even want? A full biography and medical records?!" he fumed, but couldn't help the small thrill of satisfaction at just how flustered she looked. He sat back in his chair, seething. No one would ever take his boys from him.

"I-I-" she took a deep breath and cleared her throat, trying to compose coherent thoughts. "Mr. Winchester, I think you're overreacting. I'm worried about Dean because he has bruises and cuts all. Over. Him. He has no history of any physicals in the past 6 years, and- from what I can tell- Sam is no better off."

"What are you implying?" he growled, standing and leaning heavily forward on the woman's desk. He got in her face on purpose. There was something about the fear in her eyes, though. Something... intensely sad. He immediately stood up to his full height. Equally angry, still intimidating, and less uncomfortable. No matter how off the mark she was, he didn't want her to have a panic attack or something.

"Absolutely nothing." _my ass _he scoffed " I'm just concerned for the welfare of my student and his family." _Just get out before you lose control and hit the girl_.

"Ms. Brown, my boys and I lead a very private life. We like it that way. You are nothing to Dean but another English teacher in a long line of English teachers: he didn't do their homework either. Why would he do your's?" he used his most commanding hunting voice, angry and desperate to get his point across. If Sam's vision was right, then they wouldn't be able to leave town for a while, and he didn't want to transfer the boys to another school so soon. "and, for that matter, Sam isn't even your student. My children and I, and our private lives are none of your business." he stalked to the door, balled fists and tight muscles, but turned back to look at the young woman- thoroughly shocked- at her desk. "If I hear either of them even breathe your name, your superiors will be informed."

The door slammed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey. :) This is so, so short it's barely a drabble- but I love cliff hangers and this was just too inviting… the next chapter should be up in the next few days. Expect some twists and turns leading up to the end of this fic… DUN DUN DUH **

** I own nothing.**

** Enjoy!**

Jackie got home that night with lead weights pressing down on her shoulders. To say it was a long day would be an understatement. She could clearly see that John Winchester was just defending his family. She came on rather strong with him.

But she could also see the rampant temper in the taller man. Hopefully she didn't get the boys in any trouble... Charlie had been the same way: able to flip seamlessly between the charming man she married and the drunken brute that she feared. She wondered about the bouts of anger in the oldest Winchester, and couldn't help but feel like she only made things worse.

After everything came out from behind closed doors, she had been urged to move out of the house where her baby was killed. Her tiny apartment was quiet and warm and cozy, with bookshelves and an almost constantly steaming tea kettle. The shadows still seemed to get to her- even here- but she considered herself well adjusted. Until people like the Winchesters came along and reminded her of everything that happened.

It was comfortably silent as she unlocked her door and dropped her bag and shoes in the entry way.

11 PM.

Since when had it gotten so late? Jackie's eyelids drooped, and she took a deep breath. At least it was Friday.

She poured a glass of wine and grabbed a paperback off the shelf and creaked open her bedroom door.

And stopped.

She had to be seeing things, there was no way-

The boy was shadowy and hunched over like he was in pain, clutching a dark, jagged shape that hit the light and reflected in the glass. She didn't even have to look to know it was that old, musty bottle of Four Roses… he was young and she noticed with a pang that he was reflecting the moonlight as well.

He was covered in blood.

Her mouth gaped open like a fish out of water and all she could think was that he must've simply materialized or something in order to get into her room: all doors and windows were locked and bolted and they were on the 7th floor of the building.

Just as Jackie seemed to begin words, she felt a jabbing pressure on her shoulders and just behind her navel. It pushed her backwards with the strongest push she'd ever felt, but the boy hadn't moved. How did he?-

She barely managed to lift her pounding head before the dark eyes were all she could see, inches from her face and it just happened so fast as the glass shards of the busted bottle dug into her arm. Pain erupted from it and unbearably hot blood gushed from the wound, she couldn't help it-

She screamed at the top of her lungs.

There was just enough time to see the front door burst back on its hinges before a loud blast sounded and- she could've sworn- the boy dissipated like sand in the breeze.

And everything went black.

She was out cold.

This must've been the teacher Dean said was creepy. Dad carried her into the motel room, hoping to clean up the wounds- or at least get some of the glass shards out of her hands- before the woman woke up and the inevitable freak out began.

This was definitely the woman from his vision, at least…

Sam pressed the wet washcloth on her forehead mostly out of habit, especially with Dean's recent fever- that his older brother refused to acknowledge. Sam inwardly rolled his eyes as he looked over at his glassy eyed brother, who was propping himself up on the opposite mattress. He glared at her as she blinked herself awake and Sam could tell Dean was gonna be a dick to her. It was a defense mechanism, but just because Sam knew it didn't mean Ms. Brown did.

It wasn't like Dean didn't have a good reason to dislike teachers, but he was the one that wouldn't talk to his little brother about it and refused to acknowledge that it ever even happened. Sam felt bad for Dean, he really did. He just wished it didn't have to be a dirty secret. His brother wasn't at fault there, and they could've done something about what happened, but Dean wouldn't even let him tell Dad. It wasn't healthy.

But whoever said anything about the Winchesters being healthy?

Dad kneeled next to the bed as Ms. Brown blinked awake, suddenly becoming the most awake and confused person in the world. She bolted up in the motel sheets- all wide eyed and heaving breaths- and gaped for a minute before she caught her words.

"I just… How did I get h-"

"That's not important right now. Ms. Brown, I need you to tell me everything you can about what you saw in your house tonight." Sam said, even and calm, placing a hand on her shoulder as she blearily focused her eyes on his. Sam loved talking to the victims. It was something he could do for these people that didn't kill anything. He was very tactful and articulate; he was told all the time, and the youngest Winchester prided himself on his ability to calm people down and get them to speak.

"S-Sam… Sam Winchester? What is-"

"Going on?" he finished her sentence for her with a charming smile "We got you out of your house just in time. The spirit almost got to you."

"Spirit? I- Mr. Winchester, that's insanity-"

"Really? We just saved your life! A simple 'thank you' is fine." Sam shot his brother a look just in time for Dad to step in.

"Dean." He scolded strongly, in the tone that never failed to shut the boys up "Ms. Brown, there was a ghost in your apartment this evening. I'm sorry, it must be hard for you, but we need you to tell us everything you remember."

It took a long moment of stuttering and deep breaths before they were all sitting in patient- except Dean, who was rolling his eyes at every other word- silence as they listened to the garbled retelling of what happened when Dean's English teacher got home from work.

"…. And then there was this- this massive blast and-"

"That was us." Dean cut in, none too kindly.

"That was… that was you? But how did you know how to…"

"Make it go away?" Dean smirked hollowly and Sam threw him a warning look.

"We hunt them."


	8. Chapter 8

**HA! I told you I'd update again soon! I win- and this is about get pretty rough and weird and sad. I can't live without one of my boys having an angst fit. In this case, it's our fevered and infected Dean-o. This might cross some moral borders or trigger some folks. Be warned, my pretties. **

** I own nothing.**

** Enjoy. **

"So… you 'hunt' ghosts….?" Dean rolled his eyes, ignoring the way it made his head pound like it weighed two tons. They'd repeated this for her over and over again for the past 10 minutes. At least, it felt like 10 minutes. He just couldn't _stand_ this woman. She was fixing him with her usual pitying stare, wrapped up in her confusion and disbelief.

"Yeah. Yes- we've told you this a million times! We hunt ghosts and creepy-crawlies and all that. A simple 'thank you' and walking out the door will suffice-"

"Dean!" Dad's voice was gruff and angry. Dean hid his flinch as John turned back to Ms. Brown, kneeling in front of her "Jackie, could you explain to us who you saw?"

"I- it was a boy… couldn't be older than- I don't know- 18?" she rubbed her temples and leaned forward, propping her elbows up on her knees. "He was… he was covered in b-blood and-" the words seemed to stick in her throat, and for a moment, Dean felt the nasty pang of sympathy. Yeah, Sammy did the research, but Dean still read the articles. What happened to this woman was terrible, and he couldn't deny that she had every right to worry about him. At first. He didn't really 'not like' her, he just hated the inability to take a hint. After the first couple times, she could've at least backed off a little. Worrying is fine, pitying is another thing entirely.

"And?" Come on, Lady.

"And… He was holding the s-same bottle… Four Roses; broken off at the bottom; b-bloody…" The twinge of sympathy pulled at him again.

"We had to do a bit of research in order to find you in time." Sam murmured, dabbing her sweaty forehead just like his little brother had done to him so infuriatingly often "We're sorry about what happened to you…" He said it with more tact and gentility than any twelve year old should have. "and we're very sorry about your son."

There was a moment where no one dared to break the silence. Ms. Brown just nodded jerkily, looking far older than she was as she choked back 10 years of tears.

"W-was that… Was that ghost my Louis?" She said it all in one breath. She didn't really want to know the answer.

"No." John shook his head, not knowing where to look as he saw her eyes fill with a conflicting mix of disappointment and relief. "Ghosts don't age. However, it is possible that it could be another ghost of your past. Some form of guilt or a secret that's followed you." He sighed uncomfortably, standing back up to his full height. "I have to ask you a very personal question: around the time of your son's murder, did anyone else-"

"That's none of your business, Mr. Winchester." She couldn't have been more obvious if she tried. Dean rolled his eyes. Ms. Brown couldn't lie for her life.

"Are you serious?" Dean scoffed "This boy died and it has something to do with you! You're really gonna sit there and lie? He tried to kill you!"

"I-I-"

Dean didn't even know how to describe the swirling sensation in his gut. It felt like steam was building in his chest and filling his head, and it was practically painful as he felt the immense anger that he could drown in.

"You what?! Why are you lying? We could help!-"

"DEAN." He didn't even yell. Dad was just so commanding and… Dean felt his heartbeat stall at the look in his father's eyes.

"D-David Nolan."

It was barely a whisper in the thick silence.

"David. David Nolan; who is that?" John was instantly pushing for details. Dean felt a vague dizziness behind his throbbing eyes and let the chill echo down his spine. He couldn't tell if it was from the fever or the foreboding sound of Ms. Brown's voice.

"T-the boy… the ghost in my house… I-I was seeing him. W-when he was alive, of course…" Dean felt a hole get punched in his gut and his eyebrows shot to his hairline. Memories flooded his brain that he'd pushed away for years. He didn't dare meet Sammy's eyes as he felt the hazel eyes of his little brother boring into him, but Dad was staring at the woman like she'd just claimed to have a human head in her fridge.

"Seeing as in… _seeing_ seeing?" he asked warily. Her tears really started to flow at that, and she nodded jerkily.

"He- he was my student…. I was substitute teaching his c-class and… he saw the bruises. Th-the ones from Ch-Charlie. But when he confronted m-me, it wasn't even scary after a minute. He just touched my wrist s-so gently and told me about getting me and- and Louis away from Charlie…"

"So you slept with him?" John didn't sound swayed by the sob story. Dean felt like he was gonna hurl. Sam looked nervously from his hands up to his brother and back again in a way that was painfully obvious to Dean.

"He and I slept together. It was not one sided…. He made me f-forget. David made everything okay every once in a while. He took away the pain." She hiccupped a little "The night Louis… the night he died, I was late at the school. Because I was with David." She was really sobbing now, Dean could barely understand her. Not that he was paying much attention anyway. He felt the pit in his stomach dig itself infinitely deeper. "I c-called him three days after… just- just to talk to someone who wasn't so hopelessly pitying, but- I didn't know he was driving-"

"He died."

"Instantly." She breathed out long and heavy.

John chewed the inside of his cheek like he could bite his way through his own face. Dean felt the chills of his fever run through his veins- or was that just his shame? It burned hot after the biting chill, and he shifted in his seat on the mattress.

Sammy was still staring at him.

He looked just like how Ms. Brown would look when she thought she understood his bruises. Everyone always thought they knew something. Sammy didn't know anything.

He was too smart for a twelve year old, and it was on Dean's last nerve.

"What?" He finally snapped. Sam just held his gaze- he wasn't scared of him, and sometimes Dean wished he was.

"Nothin'." He said nonchalantly "Ya look like Hell."

"Yeah, I know."

"We better change your bandage." It was a stare down that no one but the brothers understood. John gave a brief glance between his sons before breaking the silence.

"Yeah. You boys better do that now." John said, suspiciously looking at each of the boys. Great. The last thing he wanted was for Dad to ask questions. Lying had never really been hard for Dean, until he was lying to his old man.

Sam silently slipped down from the bed, and hopped up behind Dean as he shed his cotton t shirt. The claw marks and gashes were still red and swollen around their stitches, and they pulled as he lifted his arms. Sam propped open the first aid kit, and the sting of cool metal scissors slid across his skin and sent a chill off his fevered back muscles. The scabbed and oozing cuts stung as they connected with the stagnant air of the motel room.

"Oh.. oh my goodness… Wh-what happened to you?"

"Can't you tell? My dad beat the shit outta me." He answered dryly. She blushed and sheepishly looked at the ground, then up at John. That was a low blow. Sam made sure he knew that as he roughly poured disinfectant onto the infected wounds.

'I'm sorry… it's very clear to me now that you were just defending your sons." Ms. Brown sighed "You care very much about your boys. I crossed some very personal lines with you, and it was unprofessional." He nodded, but didn't get any less guarded.

"Since we're crossing personal lines, I have a question that I have to get the answer to." He commanded, rather than questioned. His voice was clipped and stern. "Have you ever tried to approach my son in a way that was more than a student?"

"DAD!" Dean felt the pit ignite with horrified fire and the only thing keeping him sitting was Sammy's firm hand on his shoulder. Ms. Brown was gaping at John.

"I am not a pedophile, Mr. Winchester. I will admit, both you're your sons will make very handsome men, but all conversations I've had or pursued with Dean have been for nothing but concern for his safety-"

John turned to Dean, who was struck dumb with embarrassment and terror.

"Dean, has she ever approached you in a way that made you uncomfortable?"

"I-I-I- NO!... Sir…" it technically wasn't a lie, but Sam seemed to know that as he pulled the gauze just a smidgen too tight over his cuts, making him gasp.

"Sammy; is he telling the truth?"

There was a moment of tense silence where Dean prayed to every diety in the sky for Sam to forget the memory that was flashing in both the brothers faces.

"About her?" he finally started "yes sir." John seemed appeased and nodded with a military jerk of his neck that barely betrayed his relief. Dean was safe.

But then he seemed to read between the lines, turning suspiciously back to his sons.

"What do you mean 'about her.'?"

"Nothing Dad, he was just checking-" Dean desperately tried to cover.

"No. I need to know. Has someone hurt you before, Dean?"

There was nowhere to go, he had no options, he-

Too late. His silence spoke for him, and Dad kneeled down in front of him.

_Oh god, oh no oh no oh no…. _

A big, rough hand that hadn't been this gentle for as long as he could remember lifted his chin a little, trying to make him meet his eyes.

"Dean?" Dad murmured.

He'd never sounded so scared.


	9. Chapter 9

**Geez, it's been a while... Sorry guys, exams are a bitch. I'll update as often as possible, but it'll be a little rough for the next week or so. **

** Triggers for molestation and stuff. I don't know why I always end up here, but someone's always getting raped or abused in my stories... weird. **

** The next chapter for Minor Fall will be up ASAP. **

** Enjoy! Let me know how you like it!**

** I own nothing. **

_Dean sat on the desk, nonchalantly leaning back against the wood. Mr. Noel was talking _again_ about the importance of his algebra grade in his 'future' and how he needed to take things more seriously. Dean rolled his eyes.__  
__"Are you listening to me, Mr. Winchester?"__  
__"No." He practically yawned the syllable and the teacher growled a little, rubbing a hand down his face. Dean held his bored expression, but it was hard to not show the discomfort of the teacher getting closer to him.__  
__Personal space was important to Dean. Living in motel rooms with your family in one space will do that to you. And Mr. Noel was too close for comfort.__  
__"I don't think you realize just how necessary your grades are, Mr. Winchester. More detentions will be assigned the more you act out with me."__  
__"Detentions are terrifying." The 14 year old deadpanned back to the teacher- he was also the football coach, and he was so close he was practically spitting in Dean's face, dwarfing him with is huge body. Dean tried to ignore the alarm bells that tingled and chilled up his spine. He was so close he could smell the musk of Irish Spring body wash and thick, warm sweat on him._  
"Dean?" Dad echoed timidly in his ears "Son, look at me."  
_S__weaty, meat claw hands pressed his down into the desk with steady, unbearable weight. Sneering lips were inches from his and foul breath made his eyes water- those weren't tears. He wasn't scared.__  
_Ms. Brown was sitting delicately at the edge of the bed now, Sammy keeping a warm, steady presence behind him.  
_Sam walked the two blocks to deans senior high after his tutoring session in the library. He tossed his backpack a little higher on his shoulders as he pulled open the door of the main hall.__  
__Dean should be done by now.__  
__He always met him in the main hall.__  
__He might as well find Mr. Noel's room._  
"Dean. What happened?" John tightened his voice to something more stern, but he still knelt in front of the16 year old like he was praying to him.  
_Hi__s heartbeat pounded against his rid like a caged bird as the chapped, biting lips started chewing their way down his neck. He would give anything for this to end.__  
__He could fight. Hell, he tried so hard. But, Mr. Noel- Jake- used to be a linebacker, and he was only 14. He could barely think of anything besides hands, touch, dirty, sick.__  
__Dean stood stock still and paralyzed as the rough goatee scratched at his neck. Huge hands came up from covering his and pressed at the top of his shoulders, forcing his heels into the linoleum floor until he had to bend his knees.__  
__He felt very small from down here, two sweaty hands and sausage round fingers burrowing their way into his short blonde hair-__  
__"D-dean...?"__  
__His heart, the hands, all movement stopped. The 10 year old boy stood completely still and shell-shocked at the scene in the almost empty classroom._  
"D-dad, I-" he tried to swallow around his tight throat, staring at his lap and desperate not to look at his father. "I'm so so-or-ry..." He finally broke out in a sob that crackled through his dry, aching throat.  
A low growly sound came from Dad, and Dean didn't even realize quite how hard he was shaking until gentle, gun calloused hands surrounded his. The last time they'd cradled his like that was the day of Mom's funeral, and he just cried harder.  
"You have nothing to be sorry for." He said quietly, pulling him up to look at him. "I'm sorry." Dean let his head snap up to stare at his father. What?  
"I'm so sorry that I couldn't stop.._ It._ I was so focused on... On the demon and the hunt, I-I guess I just didn't stop to be a father." He cleared his throat, and Dean could tell he was trying to keep from crying. He blushed, embarrassment creeping up his neck and making him miserable. He knew this would hurt Dad, he shouldn't have said anything. "Sammy, why didn't you- why didn't either of you ever say anything!?" He took the warm hands away, standing up and pacing, back to his boys. He sounded angry, but Dean could tell it was just the guilt.  
He could've fought back.  
He could've stopped it, he _knew_ he could.  
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but you couldn't have done a thing." He nearly jumped out of his skin; he forgot Ms. Brown was even still here. He just didn't have the energy to be annoyed anymore.  
"I don't wanna talk about this." He sighed tiredly, letting his tense frame relax. The chills and hot flashes burst through him like an electric current, and dean felt like he was feeling the full weight of his head for the first time. This stress was not helping, and pity would only make it all feel worse. He rarely even thought about it until tonight. It was weird: like he just got so fucking ashamed of the memory that he just blacked out.  
"Talking will help."  
"Stop. Please."  
"I know how you feel-"  
"I'm sure you do, but chick flick moments are a no no with me, sister." He tried to ignore the harsh twang of the tears his dry voice.  
"Your fever's going through the roof." Sammy pushed him gently sideways till he collided softly with the starchy pillows. A freezing, wet washcloth pressed to his forehead and sent shivers through his entire body.

When he woke there was sunlight streaming through the spotted and dirt streaked windows. Sammy was asleep beside him, curled under the scratchy motel blanket. His head pounded a little bit less, but his gashes burned a dull, slow sting through their bindings.

The gun clicked sharply as John finished cleaning and loading it.

Ms. Brown was sitting uncomfortably at the rickety table with a cup of lukewarm coffee.

"Wake up your brother." Dad muttered gruffly, not looking at him "We're hittin' the road. Spirit's buried all the way out in Sacramento, and we gotta be there by dark."

Good old Dad.

It was more of a comfort than anything that he didn't mention the night before. It made Dean smile a little. No one else would be able to make any sense of the quirk of lips, but they didn't have to. Silence was their lifestyle. Last night felt more like a fever dream then his actual life.

But, he supposed, it wasn't really home without the emotional repression.

At least John wasn't trying to_ talk_ about it, or something. This was better. Much better than the feelings route.


	10. Chapter 10

**I'M SO SORRY! This wait was ridiculous, I give you props if you're even still reading... **

** I own nothing.**

**Enjoy and review!**

"So," John started, the black car rumbling to life on the pavement "where 'm I dropping you?"  
Jackie squinted for a second. Dropping her? She sat ramrod straight in the passenger seat beside the big, gruff man. The boys- those poor babies- were in the back. Sam still trying to tend to his brother's fever, much to Dean's displeasure.

Dean. The sweet thing. He had struggled so much in his life, and here he was, worried about 'Sammy, take a nap, kiddo. There's no way you slept enough last night' and 'how many times do I gotta tell you: I'm fine!'. He wasn't fine. The longer she looked at him the more she saw it, and- especially after last night- she knew just how much he stuck to being 'fine'. It made her heart ache.

No one here seemed to be 'fine'. Jackie knew she was a mess right now. The boys were scraped up and exhausted. Even John had bags under his eyes and squeezed his hands over the leather bound wheel like it was all he could do to hold it together. He had had no idea what had happened- his eldest held his nightmare from him for two full years- and it just got slammed in his face, all in one night.

"Hey. Where am I dropping you off?" He repeated.

"Dropping me-?" Her heart suddenly started hammering with the need to make him understand "Oh no, please don't! I- I want to come with you!" She wasn't sure where the need to adventure was currently coming from, but she _needed_ to be with these- these _hunters_...

"No. You already almost got killed, that is not happenin'. Ya got any friends? Someone you can stay with for a couple days?" _Greg _oh, Greg, he must be so worried that she hadn't shown up to breakfast this morning. He must think she's dead or something! Especially when she didn't tell him about the aftermath of the conference with John. He still thought the Winchester father was an abusive nutjob!

But, she could deal with Greg later.

Jackie was needed here, she could feel it...

"I'm not going anywhere! This effects me too- that ghost was my student-!"

"Yeah, he was a lot more than that, sister." He scoffed bitterly.

She knew David had been a mistake. Call it a moment of weakness. But John was so obviously comparing her to the pigheaded pedophile that violated his son, and that just wasn't right. What she and David did was completely consensual, and _he_ even made the first move!

"Look." She used her 'angry teacher voice'. The tense, quiet one that made students cringe "that is not fair. What happened to Dean was awful, and I'm so sorry that happened to him, but_ I_ am not a pedophile, and it's not fair for you to take this anger at _yourself_ out on me!" Jackie focused her eyes on the road in front of them- now the highway- just to avoid looking over at the man she was scolding. He was angry now. She could feel it radiating off him like rippling water. "This involves me too, and I'm not going anywhere." She made that her closing argument, after the tense silence of fuming father and fitfully resting boys became too much.

She felt like a child, inwardly cowering against the leather seat next to a man who couldn't be much older than her! This was ridiculous.

"Fine." He growled the syllable like a dog, and- being honest- she thought she'd have to superglue herself to the seat in order to make him let her stay "but if you get in the way, I swear I'll_ let_ this spirit kill you! And no playing the hero, no running off by yourself- I'm not here to babysit a tourist."

The drive was mostly quiet then, though the two boys were more awake now. Dean finally gave in to his little brothers demands and let him fuss- as long as the other boy would 'take a goddamn nap' afterward. That made her smile a little bit.

But then she thought of David. She knew it was stupid, and meant to break it off so many times, but-  
Well, she guessed, _that_ didn't work out.

He was gone. Just like everyone else from the life she had had before. Everything around Jackie had changed in the past ten years, and- it sounded stupid- but she felt like there could be some type of closure gained from all this.

It burned in the back of her mind; the last conversation she'd had with David and how the tires squealed down the line and metal shrieked as he wrapped around a pole. Jackie had already been crying, but- ironically- that seemed to be the one moment when the tears stopped. She had no clue what had happened to her student- her lover, what had caused the noise, why there was the choked noise through the phone, hanging ominously in the air like a storm cloud. She stopped crying purely through the confusion of losing yet another person in her life. It still hurt. But it was nothing but a hollow sting now, lingering in her throat.

What felt more fresh was the helpless ache of Dean- Dean being_ violated _by someone who dared to call himself an educator. It made her nauseous to think about the boy, so young- just 14! She was going on her first date at 14, getting her braces off, and playing softball with her friends.

Then again, there probably wasn't much time for softball with the Winchesters anyway.

Cautiously, she looked in the rear view mirror. The boys were dead to the world, with Sam's head pillowed on Dean's lap as the eldest leaned his own against the window. He still held the slightest scowl in his sleep, and she knew that no matter how exhausted he was, that boy would wake up completely awake and reaching for the nearest .45 at a moments notice. his hand rested over Sam's chest, with his fingers knotted in the oversized fabric like he was the closest thing to his heart. The younger Winchester was relaxed and serene. It was almost like he could sense how protected he was by his big brother.

"Where's their mother?" She didn't realize she'd said it out loud til the car swerved violently on the road for a minute.

"What?" John spat.

"I-I"

"That's none of your damn business."

"I didn't mean to- to say it out loud."

"Well, ya did." There was that growl again, but almost sounded- hurt?

"C-condolences."

"Jesus Christ, I _will_ leave you here!"

"She must've died, right? Please just- just tell me if I'm right."

There was a long silence for that one, and she instantly regretted asking. John looked deflated, his eyes went dead, and his hands gripped the wheel like he wanted to break it in half.

"Yes."

She really wished she hadn't asked.

The silence stretched on.

"So, is this what you do? Hunting ghosts?"

"And all the other supernaturals in the dark. Yes." His tone was clipped, but a little softer and quieter now.

"Isn't that hard? Why do you do it?" She genuinely didn't understand, and she could feel the gathering of wrinkles in her confused frown. "I mean, it's a little ridiculous- you could have a life, your sons could make friends and be _kids_-"

"You don't think I want that? My boys are most important thing in my world, I would give anything to bring their mother back, but..." He almost choked off, squeezing the wheel again. Johns brown eyes were bloodshot and so so tired as they stared down the road like he could drive himself into the past.

"F-forget I asked. It's okay." Jackie murmured.

There was nothing but painfully tense silence after that. The Sacramento exit came up just as Sam was stirring awake- dean having silently roused himself a while before, staring out the window and being careful to hold his brother comfortably in his arms.

"Which boneyard are we headed to, Dad?"

"St. Anthony's. should probably check in somewhere, case this thing heads south." There were only a few hours til nightfall.

"Why are we going to the cemetery?" She asked quietly as they stumbled their duffles into another shabby little room, hoping it would be better received than her last question.

"Salt 'n burn the bones."

"WHAT?" They were going to _burn _David! "That- that's grave desecration, that's _illegal_-"

"Par for the course. It's gotta happen."

"It sets the soul to rest." Sam piped up as if this was something he'd heard it every day of his life. She had to swallow her bile because he probably _had_.

"Mr. Winchester, this is unacceptable. He's_ twelve_! Digging up corpses is not something your children should be doing!" Jackie crossed her arms in determination, ignoring Dean's scoff. "They- they're raised as _warriors_, it's - it's borderline cruel, and those stitches and infections and _molestation_ that you're refusing to acknowledge for the sake of showing any goddamn emotions! Dean is a sick, injured young man and Sam is just a boy! You can't just treat them like this!"

"Look, lady-" Dean started, fevered green eyes glaring and glassy.

"Dean." John cut him off. Honestly, Jackie was a bit surprised the father even bothered- he clearly wanted to kill her and drop her in the nearest ditch himself.

"Dad, she's got no right-!"

"I never said she did." He stared back at her with dark eyes. "You really have no right- these are _my_

children. They're strong, and if they couldn't handle this life they'd tell me! I'm their father."

He said it like it was the be all and end all of every conversation. The parental instinct in Jackie flared and she bit her mouth with anger.

"Clearly they trust you with _anything_, since you just found out how dean was molested _two years ago_!"

She regretted it the second the words left her mouth. John's jaw worked up and down, clenching and relaxing rapidly as his hands closed rhythmically to fists. He looked like he was going to hit her, and Jackie tried desperately to swallow the panic and stand her ground. There was nothing in the room but the whir of the feeble air conditioner.

It felt like several minutes passed.

The silence was deafening. Dean sat poised at the edge of one of the beds, staring guiltily down at his lap. Sam had balled fists and wide hazel eyes where he sat beside his brother, carefully tucked against Dean's side.  
Without a blink, John swept forward and she gasped in a breath only to sigh out an exhale when he blew right past her, to one of the duffles by the door. He looked so old. John couldn't be older than 35, but he looked so_ old_ right then. It just let the guilt fester deeper.

"Dean- you're in charge. Look after your brother. I'll be back before dark."

"Where're you going?" Sam cried, shooting her a distrustful glance as he called out to his father. Dean remained a statue.

"Out. " and the door slammed.

The twelve year old let his shoulders sag and he rolled his eyes, snuggling closer to his fevered older brother. The heat in the room was blazing already, and his forehead beaded with sweat and his eyes were hooded. But he still pulled Sam closer under his arm, comforting him as the door rattled on its weak hinges.

"It isn't right. It just- it just isn't." She said, more to herself than anything else.

"So is sleeping with one of your students. And getting beaten every night, walking into your house to find your son on the floor. Things that '_aren't right_' happen all the time." Dean scoffed tiredly, like she was exhausting his strength just by being there.

"This has been our lives for a very long time, Ms. Brown." Sam piped up, just as tired as his brother as he reached up a tender hand to the glistening forehead. Dean grit his teeth, slapping the hand away like he was shooing away a twittering bird.

"W-why?" She couldn't help the flare of anger, it was too strong. What could've possibly happened to force this family into such madness!

"How about you stop prying, you screwed this up enough!" Dean almost shouted, and his deep, gruff voice shaking her bones. "This is a hunt, not your weekly soap opera..." The 16 year old grumbled.

"I want to help you-" please just understand that.

"Help? Help how?!" Dean sprang up, stumbling a little from the stars popping in his vision for a second. But he held his ground and gave her a hard look. "How could you possibly help us? This is my life, Lady." he gestured to the room with open arms, showing the remnants of the bruises and clawmarks that she first saw on him. "It's not perfect, but until that magical day that this all ends, I could never ask for anything more. We're people, not the charity case to help you sleep at night."

"Dean, that's mean..." Sam mumbled to his brother as he collapsed back down beside him. Jackie couldn't believe what she heard, and neither could Dean.

"What the Hell, Sammy?"

"She's just doing her job!"

"What, meddling in our lives?"

"Protecting kids! She thought we were being hurt and she wanted to help..."

Jackie felt her forehead crease as the twelve year old mumbled to his incredulous brother, not daring to look at her. The tug at her lips brought a smile up her face.

"We don't need her help-"

"But, she had good intentions-"

"All I wanted was to help you boys." Jackie spoke up, stumbling over her words a little.

"You can't help me til you can bring my mother back." Dean glared hollowly over at her, stayed by Sammy's hand on his arm.

"But, we'll settle for you not ditching us into foster care the second we get back to town." Sam amended with a charming smile.

She just couldn't help but return it.


	11. Chapter 11

** HI HI. IM TRYING SUPER HARD TO GET ALL THIS PUT UP FOR YOU GUYS, AND ON TIME AN SHIT. As always, read and review, it's so much fun to hear your feedback!******

**So, if you read Minor/Major, than you already know, but I am kicking around the idea of a fantasy AU. Destiel based and fairytale-ish. But darker- cuz, ya know, darker fics and senseless fluff are the only things I'm even mildly good at. Anyway, let me know if you have anything specific you'd like to see in the new story! I've wanted to write some fantasy for a while, and I'm so excited!******

**I own nothing.******

**Enjoy!****  
**  
Sam lay beside Dean with his head pillowed on his brothers arm. His entire body shone with sweat and he slept fitfully.

He had to practically force dean down to get him to relax. If Dad were here the older boy would of let himself conk out, but he was alone with his little brother and a practical stranger who was doing nothing but studying their family unit to pull it apart in foster homes.

Dad should still be here anyway. Defending and protecting his sick son, instead of ditching them to drink himself into oblivion. Again. The twelve year old bit at the inside of his cheek, letting the faint sting of pulling skin calm the need to punch something. He got up and grabbed the first aid kit and a pair of scissors off the counter, ignoring the fact that deans English teacher was staring him down with the sympathy of a million funerals. He had to change both their bandages from the werewolf, and clean the cuts from Ms. Browns hand. But he didn't want to think about how awkward that would be. He could feel the unanswered questions turning and flipping in her brain, and was tempted to scream at her to just freakin' _ask_ already.

But he didn't.

He had Dean take off his shirt before he went to bed- it had been a sweaty mess from the fever, and nobody likes that- so he set straight to work on the cutting away the damp gauze.

"What did that to him?" at least he didn't have to lie. And the silence was broken.

"Werewolf."

"A- a werewolf..." She sounded so awestruck. Sam almost forgot that not everyone grew up with this.

"Yep." Her silence let him get back to work, and he peeled away the gauze to Dean's clawed up chest. It made a light squelching noise, and Sam grimaced at the injuries.

They were looking better. Given, they looked like he was dead beforehand, so for them to look 'better' didn't really mean too much. The pus that mixed with rusty blood was no longer seeping from between the stitches, and the skin was slowly knitting itself back together. Purple bruises still swelled around the gashes, though, and Dean twitched in his sleep when his brother poked at the tender flesh. Sam silently prayed that the disinfectant wouldn't wake Dean up- god knows he was always making sure Sam got rest, it was about time he returned the favor to _some_ degree.

Sam took a pad of gauze and the disinfectant bottle, pouring the cold liquid into and over the wounds as best he could. It sizzled and bubbled in the cuts, and it made the younger brother wince in sympathy.

"S-Sammy...?" Came a deep gravelly rasp, tightened with pain.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm almost done- I promise."

"Mmpf-" he moaned and bit his lip a little, but Sam could tell Dean was trying to be strong so he wouldn't feel bad about cleaning him up. Dean was always protecting Sam. And while he appreciated it to no end, he wished his big brother would stop putting up his manly act for him sometimes. It was like Dean never told him the truth, because he was so busy keeping him safe.

"I'm done. I'm done now, I just have to wrap you up, okay? but I'm gonna wait for a little while, so you can air out..."_ if you keep him calm enough, maybe he'll go back to sleep._

The wounds were left to the open air for a solid forty five minutes before Dean was back out. Sam sighed when the older boy finally let his eyes drift shut; he was getting much needed rest. He was also leaving him alone in the nasty silence of Sam and Ms. Brown. It was enveloping as a vacuum and tense enough to make Sam's spine crawl with discomfort.

"Do you mind me asking how your mother passed?" There's the million dollar question.

"There was a fire." He deadpanned, knowing that she was expecting some tearful confession of loss and grief. And a part of him felt guilty that he couldn't give her one if he tried.

"I'm sorry." There was a pause, but Sam could feel the next question hanging in the open air. "Were you close to her?"

"I don't remember her. I was 6 months old." _Dean remembers._ Apparently, his brother didn't open his mouth a single time for the first three months after she died. The idea always made Sam's heart constrict and his mind drift away. He wished he could take care of his brother like he cared for him. Sometimes, he would stay up with him if Sam asked about her, and tell him stories about what Mary was like.

But Dean has to be _very_ comfortable in order to say that much.

"So young, you poor thing..." She tutted softly.

"Don't pity me, Ms. Brown." He took a deep breath "Yhere are worse things than not knowing your mother." That just wasn't true, not for Sam. The words stuck in his mouth.

There was a pause again, and the lady at least had the decency to dip her head a little.

"I'm sorry." Sam busied himself with pulling out weapons and supplies for the salt n burn that night. He didn't like it here and they were leaving tomorrow no matter how hungover Dad was. It was his own damn fault. "Do your brother or father ever talk about her?"

He wasn't even sorry about the hollow laugh that slipped out as he pictured his father, actually _talking_ through his feelings instead of drowning them. He knew it sounded bitter, but he guessed he was pretty bitter.

"We're not really the 'talking' type." He left it at that and started on yanking out lengths of gauze and medical tape and ointment for Dean.

The sun was almost down, and he wondered if he and Dean would have to do this job tonight on their own. He anxiously pulled the drapes further on his way to the bed.

His own injuries were basically healed, having been bruises and smaller cuts that only required butterfly bandages and a couple stitches that had already been taken back out. Dean wasn't as lucky. With practiced ease that was almost soothing- and if that wasn't a disturbing realization, nothing was- Sam patched up the worst of the claw marks, smearing ointment and dabbing it over the smaller nicks and cuts as he went. Dean was out like a light, and Sam didn't think he'd ever seen him sleep so heavily in his life.

The fever was dropping, and that made Sam smile, at least. But the beads of sweat were rolling down Dean's face onto the pillows, and the blankets were pulled to his chin in a white knuckle grip. He'd never seen his brother this vulnerable and small, and Sam wondered for a moment if he'd _ever_ get better.

Of course he'd get better. It's Dean- nothing keeps him down.

For good measure, he still filled a bowl with lukewarm water and wetted a cloth, laying it over Dean's forehead like he'd seen in the movies. The shivering doubled though, so the younger Winchester tucked another blanket around his brother. After a while nothing seemed to help, so he just sat there beside him on the edge of the bed, like he could protect him, in all his twelve year old glory.

Ms. Brown nervously paced by the window, and Sam grit his teeth a little against the creak of the floorboards

"How long will your father be?" It was late now. Sam would have to wake Dean up soon, so they could leave for the cemetery.

"However long he wants." Was the response that he wished was stronger than his whisper. It was embarrassing. This lady was gonna stick them in a foster home, put them in the system, and they could get separated, or anything! Sam bit at his mouth again.

"Where could he be-?"

"Drinking. Don't pretend you don't know, it's offensive to both our intelligences." He was being a little shit right now. But Sam couldn't bring himself to care. He checked the window for any sign of Dad before going back to the bed and gently shaking his brother awake.

"Is Dad back? Are we leaving?" Were the first words out of Dean's mouth and Sam restrained the hopeless scream in his chest. He would never understand his brothers blind faith in John.

"We're gonna have to head out without him."

Just then, the key slid around in the lock to the motel room door. Sam knew it was probably Dad, but still felt an overwhelming sense of safety as Dean pulled his knife out from under his pillow. Ms. Brown squeaked a little, and Dean rolled his eyes, but the whole room seemed to collectively exhale as John entered.

"We gotta head out, this ghost ain't gonna put _himself_ to rest." Sam had to admit, he was surprised at his Dad's current lack of slurring and the absence of the stench of alcohol. But if he wasn't out getting drunk off his ass...

"Where the Hell were you?"

"Sammy.." Dean whispered warningly. He hadn't really noticed that he said it out loud til his father was staring at him.

"I was scoping out the graveyard-"

"For 4 _hours_?" Well, excuse him if he had a little trouble believing that.

"We coulda gotten this done at high noon and no one would've noticed- it's so far at to the edge of town." He continued like Sam hadn't even opened his mouth, but Dean pinched his arm- hard- to keep him from saying anymore.

John stopped midway to the duffel that Sam had prepped with all their supplies when he saw dean up. A small grin quirked his face and he walked to the bed instead. He checked his eldest's forehead and cheek, brushing his calloused thumb over the soft skin of deans face for a second.

"How' ya feelin', bud?" He took in the new dressings over the wounds "- nice work with these, Sammy-" and looked back to dean. Sam was shellshocked. John had _never_ called him out on something he did _right_. Ms. Brown was smiling in the corner of the room like she was happier than she had ever been in her life to see the three of them interacting so peacefully, yet desperately trying not to ruin the moment with her presence.

"I'm fine. Ready to put this whole thing to bed..." Dean replied, sighing tiredly after a while. John's brow furrowed with concern, but he didn't do anything besides cup his sons cheek. "Really, I'm fine. I swear!" He rolled his eyes, but Dean was glowing under John's attention, smiling more than he had since they came to California.

"Okay Kid- but once were there, you'll be workin' so this infection can't slow ya down."

"You know it won't."

"Yeah, Dean won't let it." Sam chimed in, suddenly feeling more comfortable with his family- _father-_ than he had in years. John ruffled his moppy hair as he passed him, finally picking up the duffle. On his way, he acknowledged Jackie for the first time since he got back.

"What're you smiling at?" He grumbled, rolling his eyes and ushering his boys out the door.


End file.
